


Spirit Soldiers

by JJJunky



Category: Young Riders
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:26:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJJunky/pseuds/JJJunky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Kid, Hickok, Cody, and Lou are trapped in a fort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spirit Soldiers

Kid, Lou, Hickok, and Cody are trapped in a fort surrounded by hostile natives.

 

Spirit Soldiers  
By JJJunky

This story is based on a Maverick episode called "Ghost Soldiers" written by Robert L. Jacks and Richard Carr.

 

The Kid stopped in front of the Sheriff's office to rub the dust of the trail from his face and clothes. Only his heart acknowledged that the small particle of dirt irritating his eye wasn't the reason for his dilatory tactics. He knew why Teaspoon wanted to see him. He also knew that for once the older man wouldn't get his way. With a deep resolution, born of desperation, he threw open the door and entered, ready to confront his mentor and his nemesis. It was Teaspoon who had honed and strengthened his trust in the dictates of the law. But, it was also Teaspoon who'd helped make him a killer.

"Welcome back, Kid," Teaspoon cheerfully greeted the young boy. Dropping his feet off the edge of the desk, he sat up in his chair. "How was the ride?"

"Dusty."

The brightness of his smile dimming slightly at the terse response, Teaspoon did as he'd done since the day he was born. Taking the bull by the horn, he forged ahead ignoring the boy's obvious displeasure, "I've got a job for you."

"Where do you want the letter delivered?" the Kid asked, putting his own interpretation on the request.

Shifting uneasily in his chair, Teaspoon confessed, "This isn't a job for the Pony Express. I'd like you to act as my deputy and deliver a prisoner to the Army."

"The contract I signed said I couldn't use profane language, drink liquor or quarrel with another employee of the firm." Avoiding the older man's piercing gaze, the Kid pointed out, "It never said I had to be a deputy."

"I thought you enjoyed helping me out?" Teaspoon gently probed.

"I do," the Kid admitted, before quickly amending, "I did."

Rising to his feet, Teaspoon crossed to the young boy's side. Putting a hand on the tense shoulder, he admonished, "You didn't kill Lloyd Dyson."

"I didn't put the rope around his neck," the Kid conceded, pulling away from the unsettling contact. "But, I might as well have."

"He tried to steal your horse," Teaspoon snapped, his voice rising in exasperation. Massaging the back of his neck, he took several deep breaths before continuing in a calmer tone, "You couldn't know that he was telling you the truth. I wouldn't have believed him. No one who knew Cole Lambert's reputation would've been persuaded that he'd become a thief and a murderer."

Staring through the window with unseeing eyes, the Kid sighed, "Regret don't give those two kids their father back."

"You gotta remember that it's thanks to you that Lambert won't be making anymore children orphans."

"It don't help much. I had to kill a man I once respected."

"Give it time, it'll get easier."

The Kid turned back to face the older man and brokenly appealed, "Until it does, I can't act as your deputy anymore, Teaspoon."

"I understand, Kid, but you gotta understand, I still have a job to do." Returning to his desk, Teaspoon picked up a piece of paper and reread the few short lines written on it. "I'd hoped to send four of you boys to guard Daggett. But, with Buck in Fort Laramie and Noah on a run, I guess it'll have to be just Lou, Hickock and Cody."

The Kid's head snapped up at the reference to his inamorata. "Where are you sending them?"

"Fort Burnside," Teaspoon absently replied. "Corporal Daggett is a deserter. Colonel Rogers has asked that I return him as soon as possible. Running Horse has been making trouble again. The Colonel thinks they might have to relocate to a larger outpost."

Pulled out of his self absorbed retrospection by his concern for Lou, the Kid hesitantly observed, "With Running Horse on the warpath the trail to Fort Burnside will be dangerous."

"That's why I wanted you along," Teaspoon revealed, focusing his gaze on the tormented young man. "Next to Buck, you're the best tracker I got. If there's an Indian out there, you'd know it before they attacked."

The Kid's eyes shifted to stare out into the dusty street once more. As his heart fought a battle with his conscious, he submitted, "You better deputize me."

* * * *

Within the cooling shelter of a rock formation, the Kid pulled up to study the old fort. The timber forming the boundary stockade around the buildings had already turned gray, aged by the harsh weather of the plains. Rising above everything in the area, was a flag pole. The top ached toward the riders as though beckoning them inside. Burnside had been one of the first outposts established in the Nebraska Territory. Smaller than its newer contemporaries, the garrison's primary responsibility was to keep the road between Lander and Jeffrey City safe. It was a task that was becoming increasingly difficult.

Reining her horse in beside her friend, Lou asked, "What's wrong, Kid?'

"There should be guards," the Kid replied, pointing to the empty towers that flanked the top of the gate. "Where are they?"

"Maybe their eating?" Lou suggested, the expression on her face making it clear she didn't believe the excuse herself.

"They wouldn't leave the fort unguarded," the Kid returned, speaking a truth they already knew. "And, they sure wouldn't leave their posts with the gates open."

Spurring his horse forward, Cody brazenly announced, "We're never gonna find the answer sittin' here."

"Careful, Cody," the Kid cautioned, reluctantly following. "Be ready to run for it."

Even as he pondered what could be waiting for them, the Kid continued to study the land around them. Small signs of the Indian presence were clearly visible to one who knew what to look for. The Kid had been Buck's most avid student. Unfortunately, the signs didn't say whether the Indians were friendly or hostile.

Once inside the fort, they found their answer. Blue clad soldiers lay where they had fallen, their bodies pierced by the arrows and lances of their enemy. The only thing that moved in within the confines of the parade ground were the denizens of the earth. Nothing else had been left alive.

"Now we know why there weren't any guards," Cody irreverently commented, dismounting and walking over to check one of the bodies for a pulse.

Tears cutting a path in the dust that covered her cheeks, Lou whispered, "What do we do now?"

"Get the hell out of here," Hickok proposed, turning his horse.

"You won't get very far," the Kid advised, pointing to a cloud of dust rising in the distance. "It looks like Running Horse is coming back to show off his victory."

"What else can we do?" the young gunslinger impatiently demanded. "They defeated a force of thirty, well trained soldiers. Five more whites aren't goin' to stop them."

"We can't fight them," the Kid agreed, his eyes carefully inspecting the parade ground that had become a graveyard. "But, maybe, we can play on their superstitions."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like what's coming?" Cody muttered, nervously wiping the sight of his Hawkins with a gloved hand.

Dismounting, the Kid pulled the reins over Katy's ears and handed them to Lou. "Take the horses back to the stables, Lou. Give them hay and water. Try to keep them as quiet as you can."

"All right," the young woman agreed, wrapping the reins around her saddle horn. "What're the rest of you gonna do?"

"Pretend it's Halloween," the Kid cryptically announced.

* * * *

His chest swelling with pride, Running Horse led the way through the gates of the dead fort. His mood was transmitted to his mount making the pain prance excitedly. Ten braves had wiped out a garrison of thirty men. With a hundred braves, Running Horse was sure he could push the white man off their lands, forever. Then the buffalo would return and the cries of the murdered women and children would be silenced.

In the center of the parade ground, he wheeled his horse to face the members of the council who'd accompanied his band to view their triumph. Waving a hand at the uniformed bodies scattered around the grounds, Running Horse boasted, "As you see, the blue coat was no match for my braves. Here is the proof that it is time to strike, before the great white father becomes stronger."

Though the wrinkles on his face spoke of a great age, Brave Bird moved with the agility of a much younger man. Dismounting, he crossed to a body sprawled lifelessly near a wrecked wagon. Maggots already crawled in the blood that had congealed around the protruding arrows. "One victory does not win a war."

"There will be more victories," Running Horse promised, jumping from the back of his horse to confront his chief.

Brave Bird sadly surveyed the blanket of death that surrounded him. Though they were his enemy, he could still mourn their loss. "The cost may be too high."

"They kill us," Running Horse angrily pointed out. "Even unarmed women and children are not safe. Our sacrifice has already been to great."

"The council will study on this," Brave Bird decided, preparing to remount his horse.

"Maybe one of the white man's symbols will help the council make its decision." Motioning to Standing Bear, Running Horse ordered, "Bring down the colors that lead our enemy. We will drag it in the dirt so it will know our Mother's power."

Sliding off his horse, Standing Bear ran to the flag pole. As he'd seen the soldiers do, he uncoiled the rope securing the banner and started pulling it down. It was at mid-point, when a rifle shot rang out. Even as his gaze frantically sought the location of the weapon, a bullet cut the cord out of his hand. Eyes wide with fright, Standing Bear dropped the rope and ran back to his horse.

His weapon poised, Running Horse crouched in anticipation of an attack. Eyes clouded with anger rested on the smoking barrel of a rifle. It was not in the hands of a soldier, as he'd expected, but leaning against the shaft of a wagon. A body, pierced with arrows lay unmoving next to it. While Running Horse searched to find an answer to this strange occurrence, the mournful sounds of a bugle echoed around them. Horses danced feeling the uncertainty of their masters.

The squeal of hinges drew the warriors attention to the heavy doors of the gate. Slowly, without physical assistance, they started to close, threatening to entrap the band. Fear twisting their faces, all but Running Horse remounted. Heels flaying, they urged the animals through the shrinking passage.

Alone, Running Horse fought his rearing mount, as he desperately searched for reasonable explanations for what had just transpired. The dead that surrounded him couldn't be responsible. Another squeal of the hinges drew his eyes to the ever narrowing gap. Throwing himself onto the paint's back, he pressed his heels into her sides forcing her between the wooden doors. Splinters, pierced his knees as he thundered past. Through a cloud of dust, he glanced back at the fort that had risen from the dead.

* * * *

Dust settled on the bodies giving them a ghostly appearance. There was no sound, not even the voice of the wind. The Kid cautiously emerged from his concealment. Rope burns crossed the palms of his hands. The doors of the gate had been heavy. Even with Hickok's help, he'd had a difficult time pulling them closed from the awkward position he'd been forced to assume.

Stiffly rising from where he'd been sprawled across the shaft of the wagon, Cody hooted, "Did yo get a look at their faces? I bet they don't stop running till they get to Mexico."

"Running Horse didn't look scared," the Kid corrected, putting a hand on Lou's shoulder in a relieved greeting as she joined her friends. "He looked angry."

"So what? What can one Indian do against the entire United States Army?" Cody sneered. As he waved his hands to emphasized his point, the shaft of the arrow that they'd secured to his back wiggled with the motion.

"I could interpret enough of what was said to know that Running Horse hopes to use his victory here to incite his people to war," the Kid said, the stench of death heavy in his nostrils. "A lot of people on both sides will die if he's successful."

Hickok cocked his head and gazed suspiciously at his friend, "There's only five of us, Kid. We can't stop a war, alone."

"Maybe we can," The Kid thoughtfully encouraged. "If we can make them believe that the soldiers can't die, they might peacefully disband."

Her curiosity piqued, Lou asked, "How do we do that?"

"By continuing with the same kind of spiritual warfare we were just doing," the Kid enthusiastically presented, his eyes resting on each of his four companions in turn. "Daggett, you're a much better bugler than you let on. Can you blow reveille, call to mess and retreat? Make it sound like a normal army detachment?"

"Yeah," the deserter hesitantly agreed.

"Cody, find some uniforms that'll fit the rest of us," the Kid ordered, his mind reviewing every detail of his idea. A single slip could get them all killed. As the enormity of his plan sunk in, he cringed. What right did he have to risk his friends lives? Was he asking too much of them? Would their loyalty lead them to their deaths?

"What do you want me to do, Kid?" Lou demanded, eagerly offering her services.

Run, was the command the Kid longed to issue. Instead, he rubbed her collar with his thumb as he suggested, "Find some flour or white wash and tomatoes. Our skin needs to look a little lighter if we want to look like ghosts; and we can't have wounds without blood."

"This is the craziest idea I've ever heard," Hickok growled, shaking his head and slapping the side of his holster with his hand.

The doubts invading his heart, mind and soul, the Kid whispered, "Our horses are tired, but we could try to make a run for it if you want to?"

"Hell, no," the other boy smilingly returned, "this could be crazy enough to work."

* * * *

Rachel cut two slices of bread. Still hot to the touch, she quickly dropped one beside Teaspoon's plate and the other next to her own. Sliding onto the bench, she unhappily picked up a fork and prepared to eat her stew. Without the boys, the bunkhouse was uncomfortably quiet.

When she'd first been hired, she thought she'd never get use to the constant interruptions or the dust that inevitably covered each boy after a ride. Right now, she would welcome the verbal jousting that spiced Hickok and Cody's relationship. She wouldn't even mind a little dust salting her food. Lost in his own thoughts, Teaspoon was poor company.

Stretching a hand across the table, Rachel laid the back of it against the older man's cheek. Shaking her head, she muttered, "Well, that's not the problem."

"W - what?" Teaspoon pulled away from the unexpected caress. Embarrassed by his over reaction, he growled, "Never surprise a man who has enemies."

"I was just wonderin' why you weren't eatin'," defended Rachel, pushing her companion's plate closer to his listless hand. "There's only two reasons why a man won't eat. The food tastes terrible or he's sick. I prefer to think it might be the latter."

"It is," Teaspoon reassured the young woman, "but it's a sickness of the mind, not the body."

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Rachel tentatively offered.

With the edge of his fork, Teaspoon pushed the stew around his plate as he admitted, "I lied to the Kid and I don't feel very good about it."

"Does it have to do with this assignment you sent him on?"

"I needed him to go, so, I used his affection for Lou to blackmail him," Teaspoon explained, mentally flagellating himself. "I hadn't originally planned to send Lou on this detail."

Putting a hand on the tense forearm, Rachel soothed, "Knowing you, there must have been a good reason."

"I like to think so," Teaspoon sighed, closing his eyes and letting his head drop back. "If I'm wrong, I may drive the Kid away."

* * * *

"They're on the hill," the Kid softly called.

Though his head remained immobile, Hickok's eyes shifted to the small knoll about a half mile west of the fort. "What do we do now?"

"Keep walking," the Kid advised, turning on his heel to traverse the narrow balcony once more. Since sunrise, he and Hickok had been marching along the parapet as the soldiers would have done - if they had still been alive. If their disguises were good enough, Running Horse would believe that dead soldiers continued to guard the fort.

As they walked, and waited, the sun slowly arched across the sky. It's hot breath blew on the tired boys, making their shirts heavy with the weight of their perspiration. The Kid's hand cramped where it cupped the stock of the unwieldy rifle. His shoulder had already grown numb beneath its bulk. Too add to his misery, the flour on his face itched, while flies swarmed around the smashed tomatoes smeared around the headless arrow protruding from his chest. 

"They're finally leaving," Hickok quietly cheered. "We can end this little charade."

"Give it another half hour," the Kid wisely advised. "One of them might double back."

"Do you think they bought it?"

"If they didn't, we'll know soon," the Kid pointed out. Calling down to his friends below, he suggested, "Lou, make sure the horses are ready to ride. Cody, Daggett, be ready to open that gate."

"We're ready, Kid," reassured Lou.

The next half hour was the longest in the Kid's life. When he could stand the sun and the thirst no longer, he desperately allowed, "That's it, Jimmy. If we collapse, they'll know we're not ghosts."

His legs tingled as the Kid climbed down the ladder. As soon as he reached the ground, Cody clambered up to take his place, while Daggett did the same for Hickok. Leaning against the ladder's solid frame, the Kid allowed it to support his weakened body. A canteen pressed against his lips. Opening his mouth, he greedily swallowed the sustaining liquid. His thirst had barely been quenched, when the canteen was pulled away. "I wasn't finished," he protested, reaching for the container clenched tightly in Lou's hands.

The young woman shook her head. Putting the cap back on, she put the canteen behind her back out of the questing man's reach. "Any more and you'll make yourself sick."

Even as he recognized the wisdom in Lou's decision, the Kid strained for the canteen, his desire stronger than his common sense, "Please!"

"In a little while," Lou firmly asserted, though it was obvious that she'd been deeply affected by the plea. In an effort to shift her friend's attention, she asked, "What do we do, now?"

"All we can do is wait. Running Horse has to make the next move," the Kid thoughtfully noted, a worried frown creasing his handsome face.

* * * *

A glow lit the horizon turning it a bright pink, prophesying beautiful weather for the following day. Running Horse wasn't interested in the view or the future it foretold. The here and now was all that concerned him. If the council went against him, could he recruit enough warriors to continue his struggle? The death of his wife and his son must be avenged. If the Gods decreed that he must go on alone, he would do so. The only time he had felt alive since Sisoka Winyan's death was when he was killing the blue coats. He craved that identification again.

"Zintkala Sunkawakan," Standing Bear panted, out of breath from the search for his friend. "The council wants to see you."

Hiding the conflict of his emotions behind the mask he habitually wore, Running Horse strolled to Brave Bird's tepee. Lifting the hide that barred his entrance, he quickly accessed the Council's positions before letting the hide fall closed behind him. Dropping to his knees, he waved the sacred smoke across his face and body. The gesture also allowed his eyes time to adjust to the dim light.

"We have thought on your petition," Brave Bird announced, waving a hand to include the other men in the circle around the fire. "We want to know how you plan to fight soldiers who do not die?"

"If I do not fight, more of our people will die under the sword. Is this what the Council wants for our families?" Running Horse demanded.

"You have not answered my question," Brave Bird countered, his lips tightening with displeasure. "How can we fight an enemy who will not die? The soldiers fall to the ground to rest, then rise to fight again."

"Our people do not rise from the dead. Soon, the blue coats will out number us even more," Gray Cloud described, supporting his chief.

Realizing that his dream was dissipating as quickly as the smoke, Running Horse rose to his feet. The illusion of superiority gave him the courage to protest the decision. "They are just men. Men die."

"Then how do you explain what happened at the fort yesterday?" Brave Bird calmly insisted. "And the spirits we still see guarding it?"

"If I can find a reasonable explanation, will you give my request your blessing?" His eyes resting on each of the men in turn, Running Horse breathlessly awaited the decision.

A slight nod from the other Council members supported Brave Bird's position. Confidently, he addressed the young warrior, "You show us that the soldier's will not come back to fight us after their dead, and we will consider your appeal."

"Pilamayan." Running Horse bowed, displaying his appreciation in deed as well as in word.

* * * *

Lou looked up into the starry sky. It's beauty filled her with a peace she hadn't felt since they left Sweetwater. It didn't seem like anything bad could happen in a world that displayed such wonders. As if to remind her of how cruel humanity can be, her eyes strayed to the parade ground where the faultiness of her belief laid sprawled around the compound. She shivered. In the dim glow of the moon, the dead soldiers resembled the ghosts that they had spent the day perpetuating.

A slight noise drew her gaze - and the barrel of her rifle - to the ladder leading to her guard tower. His pale features made paler by the ghost make-up he was wearing, Daggett tottered precariously on the top rung, before finally moving to the solid planks that formed the floor. Smiling, Lou shook her head over the deserter's awkwardness, "Whatever possessed you to join the calvary, Daggett?"

"Tradition." Joining the young girl where she stood next to the stockade, Daggett elaborated, "My grandfather was one of the so called Indians who threw tea into Boston Harbor. There's been a Daggett fighting for this country ever since."

"What made you desert, then?" Lou waved a hand out toward the soft glow of light that showed the location of the Indian village. "Your conduct today wasn't the actions of a coward."

Daggett bit his lip till a small river of blood flowed down his chin. "I didn't run because I was scared, I ran because I was sick."

"You didn't need to desert," a puzzled Lou pointed out. "The Army will grant a compassionate leave of absence to someone who's sick."

Closing his eyes, Daggett shook his head, "It wasn't a sickness of the body, but of the soul. A few weeks ago, we were out on patrol and came across a small Indian village. There were no warriors, just old men, women and children. The Major ordered an attack anyway. It didn't matter that these people were unarmed and defenseless, we killed them. I watched my friends laugh and tell jokes as they mutilated the bodies."

"What did you do then?" Lou gently probed, sickened by the picture that had been painted for her.

"I ran," Daggett matter of factly stated. "I rode till my horse could go no further, then I threw up my guts."

Her own stomach churning, Lou whispered, "I'm sorry."

A dazzling smile that was didn't reach the sad eyes turned on her, "It wasn't your fault."

"I'm not apologizing for the attack," Lou protested, putting a hand on a tense shoulder. "I'm sorry that I'm helping to put you in front of a firing squad."

"You're just doin' your job."

"When this is over," Lou promised, "we'll take you back to Teaspoon. He'll see that you get a medal instead of a bullet."

"I'd settle for a discharge."

"That might be arranged, too."

"It'd take a miracle," Daggett skeptically observed.

Squeezing the shoulder beneath her hand, Lou encouraged, "If you knew Teaspoon, you'd know we don't need a miracle. He can talk a bee out of its honey."

"I look forward to witnessing such verbal skills," Daggett cynically returned. "However, right now, I think it's more important for you to get some sleep."

"I guess you're right," Lou agreed, a yawn threatening to dislocate her jaw. "Good night."

"See you in the morning."

* * * *

Shouts drew Teaspoon to the door of his office, his stomach grumbled as though it realized it would be missing its breakfast. One hand twisted in the collar of his captive, Tompkins dragged a young man toward the Sheriff. Wondering what offense could've been committed to attract the store keeper's ire, Teaspoon studied the reluctant hostage. Only a few years older than his own Pony Express riders, the boy also had the stature to match. Though small, he had a muscular body that spoke of hard work. Unevenly trimmed, sandy blond hair stopped short of the clean, but frayed collar of his shirt. "What's goin' on Tompkins?"

"I caught this boy tryin' to steal my horse," the gravely voice called, so loud it threatened to wake the whole town.

Turning his attention to the captive, Teaspoon demanded, "Is that true, son?"

"What difference does it make what I say?" the boy defiantly answered. "You're gonna believe him and not me, anyway."

"It's the Sheriff's job to listen to both sides of a story," Teaspoon angrily returned, taking exception to the belief that he wouldn't act fairly.

Raising his chin in indignation, the aggrieved store keeper pointed out, "Stealin' a horse is a hangin' offense."

"I know the law, Tompkins," Teaspoon snapped, taking a firm grip on the prisoner's other arm. "I'll take it from here."

The older man's hold on the thin arm tightened to a bruising clasp, clearly warning the boy not to try to escape. Leaving an enraged Tompkins behind, Teaspoon entered his office, not easing his vigilance until the bars of a locked cell separated him from his prisoner. "What's your name, son?'

"What's it matter to you?" The boy flung himself onto the cot and covered his face with a muscled arm.

Knowing eyes studied the prostrate form, "I jus' thought you might have family who'd be interested in puttin' flowers on your grave." 

"Jed."

Teaspoon's heart twisted. For the first time since he'd sent them on their mission, he was glad the Kid wasn't around. A horse thief in the cell with his own brother's name would've been too many coincidences for the boy to emotionally manage so soon after the Lambert incident. Strangely though, it was because of the Kid's recent experience in Willow Creek that made Teaspoon more inclined to listen to Jed's reasons for stealing Tompkins horse before passing judgement. In the past, he'd felt that hanging was too good for a horse thief.

Curiosity drew him closer to the cell. Keeping his gun carefully out of the boy's reach, Teaspoon asked, "Why'd you try to steal that horse?"

"Does it matter?" The voice quivered slightly, the insolence disappearing.

"It does to me."

The arm dropped from the dirty face. Bright green eyes studied the older man, first with suspicion, then hope. "My baby girl's sick. I was gonna sell the horse to get the money I need to pay the doctor. He won't treat Sarah no more if I don't pay him."

Shocked, Teaspoon demanded, "Where you from, son?"

"Out Blue Ridge way," Jed admitted. "Sarah's been sick since the day she was born. Doc Russell was treatin' her till he found out we got no more money."

"What made you come to Sweetwater," Teaspoon gently probed.

Jed dropped his eyes and let them rest on the ring finger of his left hand. "If I got caught, I didn't want my wife ta hafta watch me hang."

"We got a doctor in Sweetwater, too," Teaspoon angrily pointed out, his indignation swallowing his sympathy. "Did you try askin' him for help?"

"I take care of my own. I don't need charity," Jed snapped, sitting up and throwing his head back.

"The Doc don't give charity, but he'll accept payment in forms other than money. You got a chicken or some vegetables you could trade?" As hope flashed across the lean face, Teaspoon innocently added, "I happen to know the Doc's house needs a new roof. He's gettin' on in years. Can't do the work hisself. You any good with your hands?"

"Good enough to fix a roof," Jed eagerly proclaimed.

Rising to his feet, Teaspoon said, "Let me see if I can talk Tompkins out of pressing charges. Then, you can go get that poor child and bring her to Doctor Barnes."

"Thanks, Sheriff."

"I don't want thanks," Teaspoon firmly decreed, pointing a finger at the young man's chest. "I want a promise. Next time you need help, don't be afraid to ask. It don't mean you're askin' for charity. A man sometimes has to bury his pride for the good of those he loves. You ain't the only one who would've suffered here."

* * * *

Pale sunlight washed the horizon heralding a new day. Running Horse kicked dirt onto the last embers of the fire and turned his face to greet the dawn. After a last visit to the fort, the Council would render its decision. The proof they had demanded showing that the soldiers were flesh and blood, rather than ghosts, was stretched taunt between two poles staring sightlessly at his enemy.

The pleasure he had felt the last time he'd killed blue coats had eluded Running Horse this time. From the moment they had spirited the soldier from the guard tower, till the last breath had left his body, not a word or cry had escaped the tortured lips. Running Horse had seen fear in the blue eyes, but it had not been reflected in his captive's actions. This white man had the courage of a warrior. A tribute, Running Horse had never thought he would bestow on a pale face.

Crossing to the suspended body, he untied the bandanna that circled the thin neck. Whispering a prayer for the spirit that had dwelled within the now empty shell, he tied the strip of cloth so the triangle would cover the empty eye sockets.

"Why do you entrap the spirits of your enemy?" Standing Bear demanded, entering the stone circle that had been formed around the body. "If they escape, they will search for your soul and carry it away."

"Only the spirits of a coward seek retribution," Running Horse contradicted, tightening the knot on the bandanna so it wouldn't slip. "This man was no coward."

Though obviously puzzled by his friend's admission, Standing Bear buried his curiosity. Instead, he declared, "It will be time to go soon. What do you want to do with the body?"

"Prop it up on a horse," Running Horse thoughtfully decided.

"Haj," Standing Bear agreed, starting to pull his lance from the flaccid back.

"Leave it!" ordered Running Horse, putting out a hand to halt the action. "Let the ghosts see what awaits them."

* * * *

Cody yawned and wiped the sleep from his eyes, as he slowly made his way over to the ladder that led up to the guard tower. Dawn was just beginning to light the horizon making it easier for him to see. Raising himself up above the last rung, he loudly whispered, "Sorry, I'm late, Daggett. You should've come after me."

The last vestiges of sleep dissipated when there was no reply to his call. Drawing his pistol, Cody swept the small enclosure with his eyes. Even in the dim light, he cold tell it was empty. Retracing his steps, he rushed back to the Colonel's quarters where they had slept the last two nights. Throwing the door open, he let it crash against the wall waking the occupants of the room. "Daggett's gone!"

Disoriented by the sudden awakening, the Kid grumbled, "What's the matter, Cody?"

"The deserter has deserted again," the other boy impatiently revealed.

Hickok stood up and strapped on his holster. Pointing a finger at the Kid, he angrily announced, "I told you not to trust a coward."

"Daggett isn't a coward!" Pulling on the blue officer's jacket that completed her disguise, Lou defended, "And, he's not a deserter. You must have seen his courage for yourself these last two days."

"All right," Hickok reluctantly conceded, "he's not a coward, but that doesn't alter the Army's contention that he's a deserter."

"You'd desert, too, if you watched your fellow enlistees murder old men, women and children," Lou adjourned, grabbing her hat and following the Kid and Cody outside.

Walking fast to keep up with his friend, Cody observed, "If the Indians captured Daggett, they'll know we're not ghosts."

"I know," the Kid frowned, visibly displaying his concern. Reaching the ladder to the guard tower, he quickly climbed to the top. Spread out before him was a land that spoke of an innocence he knew to be inconstant. The proof was lining up along the ridge opposite the fort. Though it was a quarter of a mile away, the Kid could see the weapons the warriors brandished.

His breath expelling in short gasps, the only indication of his fear, Hickok declared, "It's time to make a run for it."

"We'd never make it," the Kid warned, shaking his head.

"What alternative do we have?" Hickok demanded, waving a hand toward the ridge. "We can't fight them. They outnumber us ten to one."

"At least the stockade gives us some protection."

Hickok's hand swept out toward the parade ground, indicating the bodies below, "Like it gave them?"

"Stop fighting and look," Lou commanded, pointing to a single horse that was walking slowly across the plain that separated the fort from the ridge.

"Do you think they might want to parlay?" Cody hopefully suggested.

"Why should they?" Hickok derisively demanded. "They hold all the aces, and they know it."

Running to the ladder, the Kid ordered, "Help me open the gate, Jimmy."

"You're inviting those murdering savages inside?" Hickok incredulously gasped.

"That's not an Indian," the Kid announced, climbing down the ladder. "It's Daggett!"

After a last glance at the approaching figure, Hickok quickly moved to join his friend at the mechanism for opening the heavy doors. Excitement and relief quickly changed to anger and grief as the horse drew nearer and the lance protruding from the once strong back became clearly visible.

"Lou, get some hay," the Kid suggested. "Try to entice the horse into the fort."

Mystified, Cody crossed to the other side of the gate, ready to grab the horse's halter if it should come within reach. "The game's over, Kid. They know we're not ghosts."

"Cody's right," Hickok gently noted, supporting his friend. "We got to get the hell out of here."

"We wouldn't get two miles," the Kid absently revealed, his attention centered on the wandering pony.

Shaking flakes of hay just inside the gate, Lou waited expectantly. Enticed by the rich offering, the Indian pony trotted onto the parade ground. 

As soon as his quarry was inside, the Kid shouted, "Close the gate, Jimmy. Lou get back in the tower, keep an eye on Running Horse."

"Oh, no," Cody wailed, "I think the Kid's got another idea."

As soon as the gates were closed, the Kid rushed over to Daggett's side. With shaking hand, he started to unlace the leather straps securing the soldier to the brace.

Crossing to the other side, Hickok copied his friend's actions. "What's the plan?"

"I'm going to take Daggett's place," the Kid explained. One hand supported the dead weight as the other continued untying the cold, stiff corpse. "Let's see what they'll do, if they think Daggett's risen from the dead."

"They'll kill you, Kid," Lou protested, her voice cracking from the emotional pain.

With his friend's help, the Kid gently eased the deserter's body from the horse's back to the ground. Taking a deep breath, the Kid pulled out the lance and handed it to Cody, "Fashion a harness for this like you did for the arrows, so we can tie it to my back."

"It's a lot heavier than the arrows," Cody warned, hefting the weapon in one hand. "No matter what I do, it'll probably cut your back up pretty bad."

"Do the best you can," the Kid encouraged. Unknotting the bandanna, he tenderly lifted Daggett's head. As he pulled out the material, his gaze fell on the empty eye sockets. Dry heaves gripped his stomach, making him turn away. "Oh, my, God!"

Hickok turned away and covered his mouth with a shaking hand.

Puzzled by her friend's reactions, Lou called, "What's the matter?"

Almost choking on the bile that had risen in his throat, the Kid gasped, "They gouged out Daggett's eyes."

The panic in her voice raising the normally low tones an octave, Lou remonstrated, "Now you see why you can't go out there?"

"No, I've just seen why I have to go," the Kid countered. His eyes raising to lock with Lou's, he asserted, "If I don't, we could all end up like Daggett."

* * * *

Running Horse wished he could see inside the fort. Now, it was the ghosts turn to be afraid. Would they run? Or, would they feel safe within the flimsy protection of the high walls. His warriors had penetrated the barrier once, they could do so again.

Urging his horse forward, Standing Bear pulled up next to his friend, "What are we waiting for? Why do we not attack?"

"I have waited this long for the Council's blessing," Running Horse reasoned. "I can wait a little longer. Do not worry, the white man will not escape."

"They may try, but they won't succeed," Standing Bear agreed, pointing to the fort.

The gate was reopening. His blood burning with the desire to kill more of those responsible for his family's murder, Running Horse raised his hand, ready to whip his mount to pursue the cowards. Only a single horse emerged through the partially open gate. It was the same animal that had borne the soldier's lifeless form. Running Horse lowered his hand. The body still rested, slumped across the high neck of the mount. A short distance from the stockade, the forward motion ceased. Slowly, as though it were in great pain, the torso rose until the bandanna covered face confronted its enemy.

"Look," Gray Cloud cried, pointing to the sight, "this soldier has risen from the dead, just like the others."

"It is a trick," Running Horse protested, seeing his dream enveloped by the Elders fear.

Wheeling his horse, the warrior whipped the animal toward the fort. Running Horse didn't need to look back to know that no one had followed him. He could feel. It did not matter, he would face the ghosts alone. They would die by his hand - or he by theirs.

* * * *

The bandanna covering his eyes turned the world a hazy gold making vision difficult. But, the Kid didn't need to see to know that Running Horse was riding down on him. The thunder of hoofs drowned every sound, except Lou's frantic demands that he return to the relative safety of the fort.

Dust swirled around the Kid. He had to fight the urge to cough. A most unghostly type reaction. Before he was psychologically ready, Running Horse was upon him. A coup stick struck his left forearm. He bit his lip to keep from crying out. His stomach churned with the pain. Another blow glanced off his temple toppling him to the ground. The air whooshed from his lungs leaving him breathless. A jagged edge of the lance, Cody had tied to his back, dug into the tender flesh. He could feel the blood trickling down his skin.

Running Horse dismounted. Fearlessly, he crossed to stand over his enemy. In the struggle, the bandanna had slipped revealing features different from those it had originally shielded. "I knew it was a trick."

"Please, Running Horse," the Kid pleaded, "talk to you council. There must not be a war between our people. Innocent lives will be sacrificed."

"It is because of the innocent who have been lost that we must fight." waving his coup stick, Running Horse screamed, "My wife, my son, my parents! Their souls cannot rest till the white man is banished from our lands."

Climbing painfully to his feet, the Kid shook his head, "You know that will never happen. There are too many of us."

"There are already fewer now, than there were before," Running Horse proudly declared, gesturing toward the fort.

"More blue coats will come."

"Then they will join their brothers."

"You can't win," the Kid desperately argued.

"Let us see if you are as brave as the man you pretend to be." Tossing away his coup stick, Running Horse pulled a knife from a scabbard tied around his waist. "This will tell the Council who's voice the gods hear." 

A quick assessment of his options showed the Kid that he had only one course of action that gave him any chance to survive. Putting his head down, he charged his surprised opponent. Before Running Horse could react, he found himself lying in the dirt, the breath knocked out of him and two strong hands wrapped around the wrist that held his weapon.

Dust billowed around the combatants irritating their eyes and throats and shielding them from view. Pain from his bruised arm radiated up to the Kid's shoulder bringing tears to his eyes. Despite his best efforts, the knife drew increasingly closer to his chest. Just when his demise seemed inevitable, he released the sweaty wrist and rolled as far away as the lance tied to his back would allow. Unable to immediately arrest the momentum of his powerful arm, Running Horse plunged the knife into his own chest.

The Kid rose to his feet and looked sadly down upon his dead adversary. "Apparently, the Gods were listening to me."

Conscious of his audience on the ridge, the Kid captured the Indian pony and clumsily remounted. Walking the animal back and forth in front of the stockade, he softly called, "Jimmy, open the gate."

As soon as the doors had separated sufficiently to admit them, the Kid turned his mount. Even before they were completely inside, the gates started to come together.

"What's going on out there, Cody?" Hickok panted, the muscles in his arms bulging as he strained to close the heavy gates.

"They're leaving," an awestruck Cody replied. "They're going home, every last one of them."

"You did it, Kid." Lou put a comforting hand on the exhausted boy's knee. "You stopped a war."

"At what cost?" the Kid demanded, slipping down off the paint's back. "Running Horse had a legitimate grievance. The only way he could obtain justice was by his own hand. I may have stopped the Indians from killing the white man, but who's going to stop them from killing the Indians?"

* * * *

Teaspoon let his sad gaze rest on the lone figure leaning against the corral fence. While Hickok and Cody had returned from their adventure heady with excitement, the Kid had become even more quiet. No amount of praise for his ingenuity could pierce the barrier he'd built around his emotions. He was alive, but only in the physical sense.

Slapping the letter Buck had just delivered against his thigh, Teaspoon stepped off the bunkhouse porch. Marshalling his thoughts - and his courage - he slowly made his way to the Kid's side. Unfolding the paper he carried, he tried to hand it to the boy. The Kid studiously ignored the offering. Conflicting emotions making his voice rough, Teaspoon observed, "I thought you'd like to know that the Army has dropped all charges against Daggett. They're even awarding him a medal."

"I'm sure that will make his family's loss easier to bear," the Kid sarcastically announced.

Pain audible in the broken voice, Teaspoon put a hand on a tense shoulder, "His death wasn't your fault, Kid."

"Who's fault was it then?" the Kid demanded, pulling away and turning angry eyes on the older man. "The whole thing was my idea."

"And it worked. You boys prevented a war."

"For how long?" the Kid countered, flinging a hand out to indicate the empty plain. "How long till the next Army patrol massacres another Indian village?"

Teaspoon removed his hat and scratched his head, "You can't stop stupidity. You can only bear witness to it and try to prevent it from happening again."

"You didn't see what they did to Daggett, Teaspoon," the Kid's voice cracked. "I wanted to kill them for it."

"That's a natural reaction," soothed Teaspoon.

"Then when does the killing stop?" the Kid angrily demanded, striking his fist against the railing. "When everyone's dead?"

"Let's hope we learn a little tolerance before that happens," Teaspoon calmly returned. Putting his hands on the boy's shoulders and turning the tense body to face him, the older man softened his voice as he warned, "Whatever happens, you gotta stop takin' everythin' so personal. You got good instincts, son. Trust them, let them guide you." 

"What if it leads to someone's death?"

"It could just as well lead to life," Teaspoon advised. "You're only human. Don't fight your soul. You can't win."

The Kid looked out across the pasture. Though unshed tears lay at the corners of his eyes, a hesitant smile lifted his lips. "Have you told Lou the good news about Daggett?"

"I thought you might like to have that honor," sighed Teaspoon, relief clearly visible on the weathered face.

"Thanks, Teaspoon." Taking the letter, the Kid started for the barn. A few steps away, he stopped. Without turning, he softly added, "Thanks for everything."


End file.
